There has been time enough to watch the most recent season of Homeland. It is my suspicion that although Brody is dead, his story continues. This morning I woke wondering aloud whether that might be the case for my love story too – the one I mentioned yesterday.
Films, books, vacations, events…. so much of our lives can’t be experienced simultaneously, outside of graced, meditative states. There is what happens, and then comes the endless unpacking of, “What exactly was it, that happened?” There are sometimes many closing scenes, not one, and scenes hidden within credits for those who linger. I think it is that we grow more precise in some ways, polishing one reflection against the other over time, but also grow less predictable about what is left undone…
The thing about Brody is, complexity: a word that when other people use, I generally measure that they are simply complimenting their own ability to recognize it. In this character study however, our man is not just an anti-hero, not just conflicted or plagued (a formula too easy for our time, which when I feel optimistic about I survey as not fragmented, but mosaic):
“A prophet is not without honor except in his own home.”
Perhaps Jesus was pointing to time, or quantum mechanics… the way that direct encounter is impossible anyway – we circle one another. Perhaps he was merely pointing to Giving Trees, and memory. My question is, can the circles be surrendered in a way that allows for knowing we never fathomed, when trying to fit into a photograph of knowing?
I thought that it wouldn’t happen until I was very old, my looking back upon ordinary moments as most spectacular, and finding the peaks and valleys suspect… more than likely photo-shopped.